


so darkness i became

by city_bright



Series: the makings of you [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, IVF Arc (X-Files)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26100748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/city_bright/pseuds/city_bright
Summary: The attempt at IVF has failed. My take on how Scully and Mulder deal with the aftermath featuring a slightly different circumstance of how "Never give up on a miracle" came to be.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: the makings of you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960927
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	so darkness i became

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched the show beyond 7x21 Je Souhaite (because I’m not emotionally prepared to watch Requiem/s8/s9 lol), but I’ve always wanted to write something set during the IVF arc, so this is my contribution.

It's early evening, the sun is just setting, and warm peachy oranges find their way through in the cracks of her curtains. She's curled up in her bed, letting the darkness take over, and stares at the wall. Her whole body simultaneously feels numb and like an exposed nerve, all feeling, ache, tenderness, emptiness, and vulnerability.

Her bedroom door opens behind her, slowly flooding her room with the light from the hallway, and she curls further into herself, burrowing her face in her pillow. She wants to avoid the light because only the darkness feels safe.

“Scully?” His voice is the quietest and gentlest she’s ever heard it. He seems to be worried that if he says her name any louder, she’d crumble into nothing. It simultaneously makes her heart shatter into a million more pieces and angry at the same time. She appreciates his care and concern, but she hates being treated like glass, and yet she feels as fragile as a vase. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, what does?

He closes the door behind him, and she’s thankful to be bathed again in dark blue. He places a mug of tea at her bedside table, which they both know she won’t be touching, and sinks to his knees in front of her. She looks at him, but not really. He’s not in focus, but neither is she, not that she wants to be, so she just blankly stares at his chin. He sweeps away the hair from her face, and it makes her tears stream down even hotter. She almost forgot they were there. They seem to be permanently etched into the contours of her cheeks. He reaches for a tissue, gently dabbing the salty tears off her face. She wants to tell him to stop and let them fall. They're the only thing that somehow makes her feel alive, but nothing comes out.

He places the tissue on the nightstand and moves to cover her hands with his. Her fingers itch to hold on, wrap them around his, but they stay in place, stiff as a statue. He rests his head in the small space between her and the edge of the bed, like he’s pleading or praying. Maybe to her, maybe to a god he doesn’t believe in, maybe to the God she once knew but lost somewhere along the way.

“Dana, I’m sorry,” he whispers. She knows he is, he doesn’t have to say it, but they both know it doesn’t change anything. He stands up to leave, and anger bubbles up. She wants to yell at him for having the audacity to leave but she also knows that if he stays, neither of them would be able to provide the comfort they need or take away the pain. Suddenly, her bed dips under his weight, her back is against his chest, his knees curled right under hers, and he holds onto her tightly. He buries his face in her hair, and she can feel his shaky breath tingle her skin from the back of her neck to the tips of her toes. He kisses her at the base of her neck, right above the chip that started and ended it all, and it makes her shiver. He burrows into her further, and he’s all muscle and strength that it makes her feel, for a split second, that she can get out of this alive, one way or another.

She hears his quiet sniffling behind her, and it only occurs to her then that this is his loss too. The realization makes her feel selfish, but she supposes this was a selfish endeavor to begin with. She thought this was her journey to take and her journey alone. She just needed his sperm, and that’d be it. She never entertained the thought that Mulder might want this too. He wanted to help her, of course, but wanting a child? With her? It never crossed her mind until this moment.

So she gently pushes his hand covering hers, and she can feel his head rise up from the pillow, undoubtedly confused. She shifts and turns to her other side to face him, finding his eyes glassy from tears, vulnerable, but still a little guarded, like if he revealed too much in his expression, she’d run away. Maybe on any normal day, she would, but not this one. Not like this. She lets him see all of her, exposed nerve and everything in between, and lets him in. So he lets her in too, letting that carefully guarded expression shutter away. She raises a hand to his cheek, studying his face and letting her fingers run down the edge of his jaw, the jaw she hoped their potential son would have.

In the two weeks they had to wait to find out if the implantation was successful, she let herself dream of what could be. Small feet, pitter-pattering against the hardwood floor, the squeal of excitement from their child whenever Mulder threw him or her in the air, but would safely catch every single time, Mulder looking at their child with the same awe as when he looks up at the night sky, dreaming of the possibilities the universe could reveal if he tried hard enough to find them. Maybe their daughter would have his brown hair, wavy and long, and his unbridled enthusiasm and curiosity, but her ocean blue eyes, pouty lips, and panache for science. Or maybe a son, a carbon copy of Mulder and his equally pouty and full lips, strong jaw, and soft eyes. Or a daughter with her signature red hair and sharp nose. The possibilities were endless, but she knows one thing and one thing only.

“Mulder, you know I-,” she croaks, voice thick with emotion, “I wouldn't do this with anyone else but you. I don’t regret it.”

He breathes out her name as if he’s been winded, given a gift he didn’t deserve, a gift he had no right to. He closes his eyes and bows his head at her soft touch, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. He opens his eyes, now full of sorrow like he’s failed her.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he repeats in that same whisper.

She shakes her head, alleviating the guilt before it plagues him. They’ve failed each other, neither able to bring their dreams to fruition, but neither is at fault. It just wasn’t meant to be. “So am I.”

He leans in closer, kissing the highs of her cheekbones, taking away her tears with him, and rests his forehead against hers. “Never give up on a miracle.”

She nods in agreement, but she doesn’t think she can do it. As a medical doctor, she logically understands that IVF doesn’t always happen on the first try, but given their unique circumstances, her doctor says that even if she does undergo another round, the chances of her becoming pregnant are still slim to none. And despite all desires for this to happen, she knows that there isn’t any hope left, at least not when the pain and wounds are still fresh.

She always said she had the strength of his beliefs, but she hopes he believes enough for both of them.


End file.
